


The Memory Book

by Marilla_Moicaore



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marilla_Moicaore/pseuds/Marilla_Moicaore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After The Scouring of The Shire, while preparing to move Frodo back to Bag End, the hobbits find an old memory book of Frodo and Sam’s. With it, they revisit old times and use them to heal new wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue- Uncovering Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is merely based off of the fantastic work from the brilliant J.R.R.Tolkien who owns the characters, settings, and the imagination that brought Middle Earth to life.

Merry reached for yet another wooden box to pack Frodo’s books in. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and he were in the study in Crickhollow packing up all of Frodo’s belongings to bring home to Bag End. Merry, by this point, had gone through two large crates on this bookshelf alone and now needed a third one to finish the job.

“Really Pippin, why did we unpack all these books in the first place? We knew Frodo wasn’t staying!” Merry exclaimed.

“Don’t put the blame on me you foolish Brandybuck!” Pippin cried from his spot on the floor. “That was all your’s and Fatty’s doing! I was in Hobbiton with Frodo and Sam while you drove the last cart-load here.” he said indignantly.

“Well if you hadn’t been so late in getting here I wouldn’t have had time to do it!” Merry countered, shooting Pippin a playful look. 

“It’s not my fault cousin Frodo had put on so many pounds he couldn’t walk any faster than Sam after too many ales at the Green Dragon!”

“Hey!” Frodo and Sam said in unison. There was no offense meant or taken, however, and they all laughed heartedly, something they hadn’t done in a long while.

“But, really Frodo,” Merry said after the laughter subsided, “why do you have so many books? Have you even read all them?”

“Not all, but most of them anyway. I’m sure Bilbo has read them each at least twice though!” Frodo replied, a smile blooming on his face. “He used to sit in that very armchair with his feet up on the footstool, smoking his pipe. I’d leave in the morning on a walk or errand or something, and, by the end of the day, there’d be a stack of books piled up at his side!” 

“Well no wonder he moved to Rivendell then- for better reading material! Honestly Frodo! How can either of you find,” Merry picked a novel off the shelf, “A Hobbit’s Guide to Vegetable Choosing the least bit interesting?”

“Ha! That was a present from Lobelia.” Frodo explained, “She came over for supper one night and we served her tomatoes that were ‘too ripe’ for her taste and the mushroom soup ‘lacked flavour’!” Frodo quoted in a high pitched, uptight female voice. The hobbits laughed once again and applauded his remarkably close impecanation. 

“Well that I believe! She and Bilbo always had a way of insulting each other whenever possible, even through gift-giving!” Merry said, closing the trunk lid and dusting his hands off.

“Well, bless my stars! Lookee here, Mr.Frodo! Do you remember this?” 

“What have you got there, Sam?” Frodo asked. Everyone gathered around Sam as he held out an old tattered book to Frodo. It was slim with a worn leather cover and disheveled pages poking out of it from every which way. Frodo’s face lit up in recognition.

“Oh my! I remember this indeed, Sam!” he said, taking it carefully and running his fingers slowly over the cover. 

“What is it?” Pippin asked, bursting with curiosity. Frodo grinned.

“Hobbit Memories!” he read. “It’s a book Sam and I wrote together about my moving to Bag End with other stories that happened afterwards!”

Merry took the book and fanned out the pages.

“Why, this is no diary, it’s a novel! Just look at all these words!”

“That’s how we intended it to be. We spent countless hours and rainy days pouring over this! You know, only Bilbo knew we were writing it, but we gathered bits and details from nearly everyone we wrote about, just to get the whole story! Ha! Sam, you and I wanted this book to be as detailed as possible!”

“That we did, sir! We thought we’d be famous adventurers someday, and everyone would want to know as much as they could about life in Bag End and what we did and felt!"

“Oh come on then! Read us a chapter!” Pippin pleaded, his eagerness never faltering. “We can finish the packing later, please?” Frodo pretended to consider the request thoroughly, knowing that it would irritate his impatient cousin. He tapped his foot against the floorboards and rested a finger over his lips. Seeing that Pippin was indeed bouncing up and down with anticipation, Frodo gave up the act and laughed.

“Alright, alright! Come, sit on the sofa you three! Since I’m to be reading, I’ll take the armchair.”

“Hurray!” Pippin shouted, leaping across the floor onto the couch cushion. After a moment everyone was settled. “Ok, comfy now?” Three curly heads nodded excitedly. “Good! Now remember, Sam and I were very honest in here, so no teasing!” Frodo warned, eyeing Pippin who had put on his most innocent face, complete with large round eyes.

“I would never do anything like that, dear cousin Frodo.” he defended in a (well-perfected) sweet tone. “Only Brandybucks could be so cruel!” Merry gave Pippin a swat in the back of the head for that one. 

“Hey, don’t make poor Sam sit between you two! Now,” Frodo cleared his throat, “Chapter One, Samwise the Brave.”


	2. Ch.1- Samwise the Brave

An anxious Hamson inspected the appearance of his two younger brothers. His eyes moved up and down Halfred first. The golden curls atop the lad’s head were expertly brushed away from his sun tanned face and shone out as the late afternoon sun caught them in its rays. The white cotton shirt he wore was wearing thin in the elbows but was nicely-kept and stood out against the mahogany vest and trousers. A slim, black string tie held the look together around his collar. Then, apparently satisfied, Hamson’s gaze fixed itself upon their youngest brother, Samwise. Sam had the same sun-kissed skin and hair as Halfred, although Sam’s locks were not as obedient as his brother’s and stuck out in a few places. He was dressed in a white shirt and brown trousers that (judging by the stitching) had been owned by a couple of lads before him. His bright yellow vest, however, was noticeably new. Hamson couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his mother’s most recent birthday when she presented Sam with the vest. In Sam’s opinion, the fabric looked as though it was made from the sunshine in Mr.Bilbo’s garden. A tie identical to Halfred’s hung loosely around Sam’s neck. 

"Oh Sam-lad! Your tie isn't straight!" Hamson bent down and began adjusting it. "Now what would the Gaffer think, coming home with Mr.Bilbo and his new heir, to find you looking shabby!"

"But I hate ties!" The youngster retorted. "Why do I have to wear one anyway? The Gaffer comes to Bag End everyday, and he never wears a tie!" 

Hamson fought back a smile as he looked upon his stubborn younger brother, whose arms were crossed and whose face bore a frown under his large, soft brown eyes.

"Yes but he's working, it's different then. This is a very special occasion and we need to make a good first impression on the new master." Hamson stood up and studied his work. "There. Now, don't touch it!" he warned. Sam lowered his eyebrows, crossed his slightly chubby arms over his puffed out chest, and shot an irritated look at Hamson, who merely laughed and ruffled Sam’s hair. That gesture only added to Sam’s annoyance, but he decided to let it go and focused his attention back on the dirt road. With all the commotion going on that morning, Sam had quite forgotten that he was about to meet his future master. He knew this lad was in his tweens, but he didn’t really know quite what to expect. Bilbo had always been such a kind, gentle hobbit who could often spare a moment to tell exciting tales about dragons and drawfs. Would Bilbo’s younger cousin be the same way?

Hamson decided to pass the sluggish minutes by humming a tune quietly to himself. It was an old walking song from the ancient years of the Shire that he had heard his Gaffer sing once in awhile. The notes flowed effortlessly from Hamson’s lips as if he had been born with them in his heart. He was a mere few beats away from the melody line when he felt an abrupt tug on the cuff of his immaculate shirt sleeve. Hamson turned his head to look down into Sam’s eyes, bulging with curiosity. 

"Hamson, what's he like, Mr.Bilbo’s heir?" 

If Hamson hadn’t been quite so tense, he would have heard the slight trepidation in Sam’s voice. Nevertheless, he considered the question for a moment.

"Well, I haven't met him you know, but I reckon he is just like any normal hobbit.” Hamson paused. “Then again, Da told me he is from Buckland. Strange folk live there, you know, by the river. Some can even swim I hear. Mighty queer if you ask me." Sam's forehead creased, and his eyebrows scrunched together. “Buckland is right next to that old forest too, if my memory suits me.” Sam thought back to the stories he had heard about that place. He distinctly remembered that it was supposedly very dark and that the trees have been said to move. A shiver shot up Sam’s spine as the haunting details of the forest and the river flooded his memory. This Buckland lad is bound to be strange indeed! Sam shifted his weight from side to side as a rush of worries swirled around his head. 

Suddenly, the boys heard the sound of a familiar, squeaky wheel and looked up just in time to see a worn, wooden wagon climb over the hill. In the front of the wagon, two adult hobbits sat smoking their pipes. One was older, with grey hair that reflected the setting sun, burning in the background. The other hobbit held the reins in his steady hands. His large build showed that he had led a life of hard work, and the slump in his shoulders suggested years of working close to the earth. The boys waiting impatiently in the lane in front of Bag End didn’t need these clues to figure out that their Gaffer and Mr.Bilbo had finally returned.

Sam scanned the cart, searching for the Buckland boy, but couldn't see him. Maybe he couldn't come after all, Sam thought with some relief. All his hopes quickly faded, however, when he spied a small form sitting on the back of the cart, dangling his feet off the edge. Hamson and Halfred waved to the approaching cart and were awarded by a wave from Bilbo and an approving grunt from the Gaffer. Sam shuffled his furry feet restlessly as the party of hobbits drew closer. Bilbo then turned around and uttered something to the lad in the back. The lad swiveled forward and sat up on his knees to see above the older hobbits. Even though he was still several yards away, Sam could see that this lad had very large, lucid blue eyes that glimmered with a light of their own. A swarm of butterflies fluttered faster and faster in Sam’s stomach as the wagon rolled closer, but the sight of those unusually intense eyes shattered his resilience. Without warning, he flew around on his heels and sprinted towards the smial. 

"Sam! Samwise Gamgee you get back here this instance!" Hamson ordered, but Sam was already well on his way to Bag End's round, green front door and was not about to turn back. Halfred gave a shrug to his older brother, and the two prepared for the wagon to come to a halt.

...

“Woah, Sam! You were really so scared of Frodo you ran away?” Pippin asked between giggles.

“Now Pippin, I said no teasing!” Frodo chastised though he too was fighting back a fit of laughter. Sam, meanwhile, was scarlet red up to the tip of his ears yet also wore a bashful smile. 

“That I was, Mr.Pippin! Buckland was a mighty queer place to hobbit children who had never set foot out of The Shire before!”

“What I can scarcely believe is that you two wrote this all by yourselves!” said Merry questioningly. 

“Well Bilbo helped with quite a bit of it I suppose.” Frodo considered. “We would tell Bilbo everything we wanted to write about and he’d help us with adjectives and such. That’s where most of the poetic bits came from anyway.”

“I’d say so! I mean ‘the notes flowed effortlessly from Hamson’s lips as if he had been born with them in his heart’ is only something Bilbo would have thought of!”

“Actually, that line was all Sam’s creation! Though, I recall Bilbo pleading for the chance to use it someday!” Frodo’s voice was filled with pride and he cast an admiring smile at Sam. 

“Sam wrote that?” Pippin asked in disbelief. He looked at Sam in wonder. “That might just be better than your description of Gandalf’s fireworks when we were in Lothlorien!” Sam’s blush deepened (if that was even possible).

“Go on, Frodo,” Merry pressed. “Let’s hear some more!”

“Ok, one more chapter, but then we need to get back to packing! The Cottons are bringing their wagon over at dusk and it’s already high noon! Here Sam, you read this next one!” He held the leather novel out to him.

“Oh no, sir! I’m no good for reading aloud!” Sam refuted, pushing the book back towards Frodo. “Besides, you and Bilbo pretty much wrote the majority of this next chapter as I recall!”

“Oh alright,” Frodo resigned. “Chapter Two: The Dinner.”


	3. Ch.2- The Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrases with ' around them signify thoughts within the characters' minds.

“Woah!” called the Gaffer to his small pony, who slowed to a halt. A quite excited Bilbo Baggins climbed down from his seat at the front of the cart. He slid his pipe into a pocket on his bright red, velvet vest and turned to the lad who was jumping off the back of the wagon.

“Well Frodo, welcome to your new home!” Bilbo waved his arms in a gesture towards Bag End. Frodo couldn’t help but giggle a little bit to himself at the wide, silly grin on his Uncle’s face. Bilbo wrapped his arm around Frodo’s shoulder and pulled him over to where the two other boys were standing a bit awkwardly by the gate post.

Frodo, allow me to introduce you to a couple of the Gaffer’s children! This is his oldest son, Hamson, and his second oldest son, Halfred.”

“How do you do, sir?” asked Hamson. Frodo smiled and nodded while shaking Hamson’s hand and then Halfred’s.

“It’s very nice to meet you both!” said Frodo sincerely.

“Come now lads, take the masters’ bags for them.” the Gaffer called.

“Yes sir!” They replied in unison. The boys made their way to the back of the cart and grabbed the bags the Gaffer handed them.

“Where has Samwise got himself to?” the Gaffer demanded once he was sure Bilbo and Frodo could not hear him.

“He was here a minute ago, but once he saw you coming he ran into Bag End. Looked like he was scared or somethin’.” Hamson recalled. The Gaffer grumbled something to himself, the boys couldn’t understand. After all the bags of their masters’ treasured belongings were unloaded, the Gaffer and his sons joined Bilbo and Frodo at the gate where Bilbo was pleasantly chattering away about his impressive garden.

“...and I’m sure the Gaffer will be able to tell you much more about all the marvelous plants in the garden at another time!”

“Aye, that I will young sir!” answered the Gaffer, opening the gate for his masters. Bilbo took a big sniff as he walked closer to Bag End.

“Ah! I see, or rather smell, your lovely Bell has been busy this afternoon!” 

“Aye, that she has, sir! Been bakin’ Mr. Frodo’s favourites, just like you requested, Mr. Bilbo.” Frodo smiled to himself as he thought of the wonderful delicacies that must be waiting for him inside. He too slowly inhaled a large whiff of the air and savored the scent of mushrooms cooking.

“Frodo, you shall soon learn that Mrs.Gamgee is the greatest cook this side of Rivendell!” Bilbo exclaimed as he hung their coats in the entrance of the smial. Frodo grinned in anticipation and looked around. He had, of course, visited Bilbo many times throughout his life and knew Bag End quite well, but there always seemed to be something new in every room. His eyes wandered to the living room where three large armchairs were positioned in front of a wooden footstool and a roaring fire. The mantle on top of the fireplace was occupied by a delicately carved clock, ticking away the seconds. On each side of the timepiece was a small portrait of Bilbo’s mother and father. Frodo’s gaze drifted again to the flames, dancing and entangling themselves with vivid streaks of crimson and gold. He looked up to the sound of Bilbo laughing.

“Hamfast, we had better get some of your wife’s delicious supper into him before he falls asleep on us!” Then, as if on cue, Bell scuttled out of the kitchen as she dried her hands swiftly with a pale blue dish towel. She was followed closely by two lasses who appeared only a few years younger than the eldest Gamgee lads.

“Welcome back Mr. Bilbo, and welcome home Mr. Frodo!” She cried blissfully. Bell wore a modest, light green dress. Her honeycomb hair was tied neatly back with a matching green ribbon, and a sweet smile rested perfectly between her rosy cheeks. The lasses next to her were dressed similarly.

“Ah, thank you, Bell. Thank you! Frodo, this is Bell Gamgee and her daughters, Daisy and May!”

“How do you do, Ma’am, ladies?” Frodo asked politely while giving a small, courteous bow. The girls giggled and were quickly shushed by Bell with a wave of her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. Frodo! Mr. Bilbo speaks so fondly of you, if I may say so sir.” 

Frodo smiled and blushed slightly. 'Leave it to Bilbo to talk about me before I even arrive.' He mused. He was not able to ponder that thought long for he felt Bilbo’s hand on his back, pressing him towards the parlor. They took seats next to each other around a large table. Frodo’s mouth began to water as the aroma of mushroom casserole combined with honey buns, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh applesauce permeated his senses.

“I believe we are ready to eat sirs!” Bell announced. “Please begin! I just need to get some jam for the buns.” She bounded towards the kitchen but was stopped by a hand on her arm. Bell looked down to see her husband staring fiercely at her. 

“Do you know where Samwise is?” he whispered. The intensity in eyes showed his thinning patience and increasing agitation. 

“He came running into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He looked worried I think, but he said everything was alright and that he just wanted to help set the table. He ran back into the kitchen when you all came inside.” Hamfast just shook his head and grumbled something more. 

“I’ll bring him with me.” Bell reassured, in attempt to calm her husband’s temper. Hamfast loved his children very much, but he was also very keen on making a good first impression.

Meanwhile, the other hobbits began piling as much food as they possibly could on Bilbo’s delicate plates. Bilbo specified that he wanted Bell to set the table with his mother’s hand-crafted china for Frodo’s first meal in Bag End. Bell, of course, complied to his wishes but needed to add a few spoons from another set for there seemed to be some missing from his mother’s. Underneath each dish was a white, laced placemat, meticulously woven especially for Bilbo in Rivendell many years ago. The pure color of the thread suggested that Bilbo rarely used them and only kept them for the most important of events.

Frodo studied the scene before him. He discerned from the concentration on each of the Gamgee children's faces as they ate that they were strictly told to be on their best behavior. Each of them took a modest portion (for a hobbit) and were moving each utensil slowly as if they were afraid they would somehow break them. His observations moved to the Gaffer. Although he was eating his meal his eyes were focused on each child, accessing the way in which they conducted themselves. The Gaffer’s vision fixed itself on a space beside Frodo and a small sigh escaped his lips. Frodo turned his head to the left and noticed an empty chair. Bilbo must have caught this action for he cleared his throat.

“Well, Frodo, you have met six of the eight members of the Gamgee family. Hamfast, if I may ask, where are young Marigold and Samwise this evening?” The Gaffer cleared his throat and straightened his back.

“Marigold is spending some time over at the Cotton farm tonight, sir. We didn’t want her underfoot. As for Samwise... well he is feeling a bit timid I reckon. My apologies, sir. He should be here any moment now.” His words came out slowly and the tone of his voice suggested he was uneasy. Just then, Bell strolled into the dining room, carrying a tray of assorted jellies. 

“Here you are, sirs! How is everything so far? Can I get you anything else?” Bell asked as she set the platter between Frodo and Bilbo.

“Everything is scrumptious as usual Bell, thank you! Please, take a seat.” Bell attempted to walk to her chair next to her husband but stopped midway.

“Sam lad, you’ll make me trip!” Bell laughed as she reached behind her.

Frodo noticed, for the first time, that a small form was gripping the back of Mrs.Gamgee’s skirt.

“Samwise, stop this foolishness!” The Gaffer commanded. He looked as though he was about to get up and pry the lad from Bell. Fortunately, he was stopped before he could raise from the table by a calming gesture from Bilbo’s hand. Bilbo pushed out his chair and crouched forward so that his elbows lightly rested on his lap.

“I’m so glad you’re here Sam! Thank you for all your help in preparing for my nephew. We both really appreciate it!” Bilbo was rewarded when a curious brown eye peeked out from behind Bell, and he smiled warmly. Meanwhile, the rest of the hobbits ceased their feasting to watch the scene unfolding. The Gamgee children stared in awe at their Gaffer, then Sam, then Bilbo, and then at their Gaffer again. Frodo was smiling at Bilbo. He remembered the first time he met Bilbo and how Bilbo used this same strategy to get him to come out from behind Primula. A forlorn sigh escaped Frodo’s lips at the thought of his beloved mother, but he quickly shut his mouth again and looked anxiously around to make sure no one heard him. Much to his relief, all eyes were still on Bilbo.

“Say, speaking of my nephew, would you like to meet him?” A moment passed before a tentative nod shook the curls from Sam’s eyes, now both visible. Bilbo extended his hand toward Sam who warily left the safety of his mother and accepted it. Once their hands grasped, Bilbo put his free hand on Sam’s opposite shoulder and sat up.

“Samwise Gamgee, meet Frodo Baggins.” Sam’s eyes slowly rose to meet Frodo’s. He was instantly mesmerized by the crystal blue orbs but quickly blushed and looked down again. He took a shaky step towards Bilbo. Frodo took notice of this, but merely laughed.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Sam!” Frodo paused. 'Now what should I say?' he thought anxiously. He took a sidelong glance at the table. Suddenly, a genius plan sparked a light in his eyes and a sly smile appeared on his face. “You know Sam, I am quite jealous of you.” 

Sam raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'Why would my new master be jealous of me?'

Frodo’s smile broadened. “You get to eat your mother’s excellent meals everyday!” 

Sam let out a small giggle. 'Well of course I get to eat her cooking everyday! Although she doesn’t make fancy meals like this all the time...' He cast a hungry gaze at the steaming dishes sprawled out before him.

Frodo caught Sam’s longing look. 'Aha! Gotcha!' he thought mischievously.

“Won’t you sit down, Sam?” Frodo asked while he patted the chair next to him and tried to hide his smirk of close victory. Sam looked up at Bilbo who gave him an encouraging nod and released his hand. Then, very carefully of course, Sam made his way to the chair and climbed up. Once he was situated with his bottom flat on the chair, his feet dangled a few inches from the floor, but only his chestnut brown eyes and sandy curls appeared over the top of the table.

“Um, Uncle?...I think Sam may need...” Frodo’s statement was interrupted by a large, heavy book that plopped into his lap. He picked it up and read the cover: Quenya to Common Tongue; the Complete Elvish Dictionary.

“I know how much you love elves Sam, so I thought you may enjoy sitting on one of their books!” Bilbo said jubilantly. A snicker arose from Hamson and Halfred, but Sam seemed to take little notice of this as he adjusted the dusty volume beneath him and began serving himself some potatoes. A collective sigh of relief could be heard from the Gamgee family (most notably from the Gaffer) and the hobbits took up their feasting once more. 

Light table conversation was passed between Bilbo and Mr. and Mrs.Gamgee regarding the weather, the garden, and other small, trivial matters. The Gamgee children listened intently (when they weren’t pondering which dish to try next). Frodo had, despite the scrumptious taste of the food, lost his appetite. He stirred his casserole idly and began to daydream about Brandy Hall. Bilbo’s old clock he passed earlier struck seven a few minutes prior. This meant that, back at the Hall, the youngest hobbit children would be fighting sleep as their parents recited the children’s favourite stories. 

Frodo sighed inwardly. He hadn’t been regularly told bedtime stories since his parents died. Memories flooded back into his mind as he thought of his father sitting at his bedside. Drogo would tell elaborate stories while Frodo would ask questions endlessly. His mother, Primula, would stand in his doorway after finishing the dishes and add a comment or two. Frodo’s favourite tale was the one where Bilbo rescued his dwarfish companions from the evil clutches of the wicked spiders of Mirkwood. 'Then again,' he considered, 'I really like the one about the trolls! Oh! I love the one where Bilbo meets Smaug and the time when he wins the riddle game with Gollum! Well, maybe I don’t have a favourite- there are too many!'

An oppressed puff of air left Frodo’s mouth, but it was barely audible, even to his own ears. It was ten years to the day since the tragic death of his parents in the Brandywine River. The all too familiar, lonely desire for his parents began to weld up in Frodo’s heart and, although he tried to fight it, his eyes brimmed with tears. He wasn’t lying when he said he was jealous of Sam. Without much of a warning, his eyes overflowed and a few salty water droplets dripped off his cheeks and onto his half eaten, half mushed casserole. 

...

Frodo closed the book, and a heavy silence fell over the small study in Crickhollow. Merry and Pippin stared awkwardly at their hands in their laps. Sam looked at his master, a pained and sympathetic expression on his face. Frodo’s gaze remained on the leather novel, his emotion unreadable. After a few reflective moments, Merry was the first to speak.

“Well, Frodo, I can scarcely believe you let mushroom casserole go to waste! You of all hobbits!” Merry flashed Frodo his famous cheeky grin. That smile, combined with those rosy cheeks, wild curls, and bright eyes glittering with mischief never failed to coax a smile in return from Frodo. Today was no exception.

“Meriadoc, do you ever think of anything but food?” Frodo scolded, though he couldn’t help but laugh.

“You can hardly blame me, cousin! It is a quarter past teatime after all!” Merry rubbed his stomach dramatically.

“Don’t you worry, Mr.Merry. I’ll go see what can be spared to tie us over ‘til dinner.” Sam rose from his seat and headed to the kitchen.

“I best go with you to make certain we get a decent sized meal! You didn’t even give us enough to fill up the corners during elevenses!” Merry called ahead teasingly. Sam pointedly ignored him.

Frodo chuckled and shook his head. Eru bless them. 

“Pip, your cousin Merry is truly...” Frodo faltered when he noticed that Pippin’s head was still bowed, a forlorn expression on his face.

“What is it, lad?” he asked gently, bending to try and meet Pippin’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you felt that way?” Pippin whispered. Frodo was startled to see tears pricking in his eyes.

“I’m not sure I understand...” Frodo replied, genuinely confused. “Didn’t tell you what?” Frodo crossed over to the sofa and lowered himself next to Pip.

“You never told me you hurt so much.” Pippin accused quietly. Frodo was still puzzled until, suddenly, he put the pieces together.

“I never told you how much the death of my parents hurt me,” he said slowly 

“You mean how it still hurts you!” Pippin snapped. His blazing, slightly damp eyes bore into Frodo’s. “You should have told me, Frodo! You, Merry, Sam,” Pippin rose from the sofa   
and paced about the room, waving his arms in frustration. “...you all keep things from me! You all try to protect me from the truth! We’ve been all across Middle Earth, faced countless dangers, almost been killed multiple times, and you still treat me like a child!” Pippin fumed.

“I want to help you, Frodo,” he added in a softer tone. “I went on this journey, joined the conspiracy and the Fellowship, because I wanted you to be safe and happy. How can I be there for you when you lie to me?” Pippin’s words stung and hung bitterly in the air. Frodo stared at Pippin in shock.

“Why, Pip! I never knew you felt that way,” Frodo crossed over to Pippin and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I never meant to upset you! None of us did.” 

“Then why?” Angry tears streamed freely down Pippin’s cheeks.

“It’s not because we think you can’t handle the truth- we just don’t want to cause you any unnecessary pain!” Frodo explained anxiously. “We don’t want you to be stripped of your innocence, Pip. We want you to never have cause to worry.” Pippin’s anger seemed to slowly disintegrate as he began to understand. With a final sniff he sat back down and scrubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked after a minute. “I just can’t stand the idea of you crying at your welcome dinner, because you still had so much pain.” Pippin stared into his lap again. Frodo was silent for a moment, trying to find the right way to explain.

“An incident like the drowning...” he began cautiously. “...never leaves your memory. It’s always around, and, no matter what, the pain is always there too.” Pippin visibly tensed, so Frodo hastily added, “But, you learn to live with it! The quicker you move on, and the more time passes, the less it hurts, and the easier it is to deal with.” Pippin calmed again, and Frodo took a seat again next to him. “I was only twelve when my parents died and merely twenty-two when Bilbo adopted me. The memory was still fresh and it still stung to think about, but that is no longer the case.” Gently, Frodo raised Pippin’s chin so their eyes could meet. Holding a steady, firm gaze, Frodo continued. “By the time you and I became good friends, the anniversary of their death no longer caused so much pain, and there was no reason to burden you with it. Do you understand now, Pip?” 

“Yes,” he answered. Then, in a hesitant, shy manner, asked, “Will time also numb memories of war and darkness?” Frodo’s face wrung into an expression of pity, and he cupped his little cousin’s cheek lovingly with his maimed hand. 

“I sure hope so,” he said, a hint of desperation in his tone. Satisfied, Pippin rubbed his face with his sleeve.

“Merry would certainly have some cruel names to call me if he could see me now!” he muttered, a rosy blush burning on his cheeks. 

“Ha, you think you feel silly! Imagine sobbing at your welcome dinner! I sure felt like a goose then!” Frodo laughed, handing Pip a handkerchief. 

“Yes, however did you get out of that mess, cousin?” Pippin asked, his old, cheerful self returning.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait until we read the next chapter, you impatient Took! And that won’t happen until we finish packing! How’s that tea coming, lads?” Frodo called out the open study door.

“Almost ready, sir!” Sam’s stout voice called back. “You best go and wash up!” Sam grumbled something more about an “unbelievable amount of dust ‘round here.” With a final chuckle, Frodo laid his arm across Pip’s shoulders, and, together, they exited the study. From the opposite hall doorway, Merry stood with his side pressed up against the wall, a single tear wobbling down his face.

“I hope so too,” he whispered.


	4. Ch.3- Meticulous Observations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrases with ' around them signify thoughts within the characters' minds.

After a decent sized (though not nearly large enough by Merry’s standards) tea, the four resumed packing up the study. By the time the Cottons arrived at dusk, Frodo’s belongings were all packed and ready to be loaded. Sam was disappointed to find that Rosie was unable to travel to Crickhollow with her brothers. With all the clean-up work to do back in Hobbiton, she was forced to remain at home. He was comforted, however, when he discovered that her brother Nibs stayed behind as well to keep her company.

As the rickety old cart was loaded, the foursome described the finding of the memory book to the Cottons and retold every detail they could remember of the chapters they read so far. Though Frodo and Sam were embarrassed to have their story shared, they seemed just as eager as everyone else (with the exception of a certain enthusiastic Took) to read more. Once the last crate was squeezed onto the Cotton’s wagon, everyone agreed that relaxing the rest of the night and beginning their journey to Bag End first thing in the morning was an excellent idea.

A few hours later, Merry leaned back in his oak dining chair and rubbed his full belly. “Lucky thing Tom had the sense to stop at the market or else there’d be nothing for supper!” he commented as he lit his pipe.

“Hey now! You can’t give old Tom all the credit!” complained Jolly. His large, furry feet were resting on the table, and he too had a pipe stem dangling from his mouth. “I was the one who insisted on buying the potatoes! I know they’re your favourite, Sammy,” he jested, elbowing Sam in the ribs.

“That was right thoughtful of you, Jolly. Now if only you’d remember my name is Sam, not Sammy.” Sam sent Jolly a warning look.

“He’ll stop addressing you as Sam when you stop addressing all of us as ‘Sir’ and ‘Mister,’” challenged Pippin, unable to resist the opportunity.

“Don’t even try, Pip! I’ve been begging him to stop that since the day we met!” said Frodo, flashing a smile at his blushing gardener.

“Frodo’s right! The Gaffer drilled the principles of respect for his betters so far into Sam’s thick head that it’d take an army of ruffians to get at it!” Tom agreed.

“Don’t say such things, Tom!” Nick cried, anxiety rising in his voice. “A couple of them ruffians may still be hanging about!” He peered nervously out the open window.

“There’s nothin’ to fear anymore, our famous friends took care of them!” Jolly assured, passing Nick another ale.

“He’s right, Nick! We’re safe now,” Tom patted Nick’s arm. “so let’s not talk about that anymore! I want to hear how Frodo’s welcome dinner ended!” A chorus of cheers erupted from the small gathering. Pippin leapt up from his seat and scurried off to their collection of packs. He was back within moments and eagerly pressed the book into Frodo’s lap.

“Now just one moment! What makes you think I should read the next chapter? I read the first two!” Frodo complained.

“Because, cousin, you wrote it!” Merry argued.

“On the contrary, Bilbo wrote this one. I only did the first part, really. So, since dear old Bilbo isn’t here, we’ll need a volunteer to do the honors! Any takers?” Frodo scanned the faces around the table though no one met his gaze. 

“Alright,” Frodo said after a minute, “if there are no takers, I’ll choose.” He paused to think. “Merry, read to us please.” Frodo calmly held the book out to Merry who appeared rather startled.

“Me?” he cried in disbelief. “Why me? Why not, Sam? He was there after all!” 

“I chose you, because I want you to learn something from this part. As for your other question, Sam will have his turn.” Sam squirmed uncomfortably in his chair and looked fearfully at his master, but Frodo ignored him.

“We’re waiting, Mer.” Frodo relaxed in his chair and puffed at his pipe.

“Oh alright, alright!” Merry took a deep breath. “Chapter Three, Meticulous Observations,”   
...

Frodo promptly dropped his fork and ducked beneath the table to retrieve it. He scrubbed his face and nose quickly with his napkin to hide the evidence of his tears. A rosy overtone spread across his cheeks as he blushed with shame. 'Why did I just do that? Here I am, overjoyed one minute to have my wildest dream come true to balling under my Uncle’s table. Get it together Baggins!' 

Frodo nodded resolutely and rose back into his seat. His absence had apparently gone unnoticed by the dinner guests, but he couldn’t shake the presence of eyes upon him. He looked to his left to find Bilbo eyeing him questioningly. The younger cousin held up his fork as a way of explanation. Bilbo resumed eating, but the skepticism in his eyes suggested that the matter was far from closed. Sam chose this moment to leap down from his seat and bound into the kitchen, a stout look on his face. Suppressed groans from the Gamgees conveyed their ever present fears that Sam would need further coaxing to rejoin the party, again.

“Samwise...” the Gaffer began reproachfully. He didn’t finish his sentence for Sam, much to everyone’s surprise, returned with a clean fork for Frodo. Sam hesitantly held it out to Frodo while blushing at his feet. Frodo smiled and took the fork from him.

“Thank you very much, Sam!” Sam beamed, still at the floor, and clamoured on top of the Elvish book. Once he was situated again and all eyes had turned off of him, Sam gave Frodo’s leg a soft nudge. Frodo peered down at Sam’s hand and saw it held a clean handkerchief with the initials S.G. sewn on it. Sam nodded towards Frodo’s lap, which now held a wrinkled, tear-stained napkin. Frodo looked back at Sam and mouthed a thank you, taking the cloth from Sam and hiding his used linen under his leg. 

The remainder of the meal was uneventful. Each hobbit ate his or her fill. Any signs of fullness, however, vanished as Bell emerged from the kitchen carrying the greatest tasting wild berry pie Frodo had ever had the pleasure of feasting upon. After the pie tin was empty (which didn’t take long) the Gamgee children started to clear the table. Bell was about to get up and start on the dishes when Bilbo called after her.

“Now, now! There’s no rush! Let Frodo and I tend to the cleaning later.”

“But sir,” Bell began, but Bilbo merely raised his hand.

“There'll be no buts in Bag End! You could use a moment to put your feet up after all the hard work you did on this excellent meal, the Gaffer and I should like a smoke, and I’m sure the young ones wouldn’t mind hearing a story.” At this, the Gamgee children all broke out in grins and even started bouncing a little in anticipation. Even Hamson and Daisy, the eldest, couldn’t hide their excitement. Frodo stared wide-eyed at his Uncle.

“Oh, would you?” Frodo cried, now clapping his hands together. It was some time since he heard one of Bilbo’s marvelous tales. Bilbo laughed heartily at his suddenly enthused nephew, who had been rather quiet today.

“Of course, of course! Into the living room with you now!”

The remainder of the evening was spent listening to Bilbo tell stories from his grand adventure. The children gathered on the floor around the hearth while Bell, Bilbo, and the Gaffer each sat in one of Bilbo’s enormous armchairs. Bilbo and the Gaffer smoked Old Toby while Bell was content just to hold her husband’s hand and listen. By the time the clock struck ten and the dwarves escaped from the the Goblins, Sam couldn’t resist sleep any longer. He crawled into his mother’s lap and drifted off instantly. The remaining children were fighting to keep their eyes open as well.

“Well, I believe it’s time for you all say goodnight and a big thank you to Mr.Bilbo and Mr.Frodo,” All stood up, exchanged thank yous and goodnights, and soon Bag End was quiet once more. Bilbo locked the door and turned around to find Frodo leaning against an armchair, his eyes cracked open just a sliver.

“Come on lad, you’ve had a big day,” Bilbo put an arm around Frodo’s shoulder and led him down a long hallway. Frodo usually stayed in the guest room with the view of the garden at the back of the smial. Tonight, he would still sleep in that room, but it was no longer a guest room. Tonight, it was Frodo’s room.

Bilbo turned the brass knob and the solid oak door opened with an eery creek. He flinched at the high-pitched noise and frowned, moving the door back and forth to test the hinges.

“Hm, I’ll mention this to the Gaffer tomorrow. A little oil and it will be good as new!” Behind him, Frodo finally let his guard down, and an enormous yawn evaded his defences. He looked much like a cat, about to sprawl out in the warm morning sun for a peaceful nap. A quite amused Bilbo beckoned his nephew inside. 

Frodo stepped through the doorway. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly in amazement as his gaze bounced about the room. It was the same room he stayed in before: light honey wallpaper still covered the walls, a small wooden bed was fixed under the round, glass window, the fireplace occupied the left side of the room, and a woven emerald rug covered the floorboards. However, a new desk (a miniature version of Bilbo’s) now sat to the right of the bed. A fresh set of white stationery lay on the top of it next to three quills and a decent sized jar of ink. The wall above the desk held two shelves with a couple books positioned on top. 

The ecstatic, suddenly wide awake young hobbit rushed to the front of the dresser to his left. He flung open the drawers and found three crisp white nightshirts. The next drawer he opened contained an assortment of colored shirts and a few casual vests. Below that, he discovered five pairs of neatly folded breeches. The bottom was comprised of some fancier dress clothes for parties and such.

Frodo bounced up and down as he rapidly inspected his wardrobe. Each drawer slid back into place with a thud. After he went through all the drawers, he spun around with ease on the polished floor and darted to the bed. His sudden burst of energy died down as he ran his hand across the quilt. It was not the one he usually had. The puffy comforter was baby blue with white stitching and was very soft to the touch. Something on the corner of the quilt caught the lad’s eye and he reached over to examine it. More white stitching formed the flowing cursive letters B.B. 

“That was mine when I was a lad. My mother made it for me. I thought maybe you would like it now...” Bilbo wrung his hands nervously and leaned over to try and catch a glimpse of Frodo’s face, whose back was turned away from him. In a flash, a curly brown head pressed against his chest and small arms enveloped his waist in a fierce hug. After a brief moment of surprise, Bilbo returned the embrace. 

They stood like that for a minute or so until Frodo pulled back and looked up at his Uncle.

“Thank you Bilbo, for everything.” he said earnestly.

“You’re most welcome, my dear boy.” Bilbo caressed his cheek briefly. “Now, let’s see if your aunt Esme gave me the right measurements. Go put on one of those nightshirts!” Frodo eagerly complied and got to work undressing. The shirt was slightly big on him, but that was hardly an issue. He smiled broadly at Bilbo.

“It’s perfect, Uncle!”

“Good, good! Why don’t you see how this bed works, huh?” Bilbo knelt down and picked up Frodo’s clothes off the floor. When he turned back to Frodo, the lad was already sound asleep, his head buried almost completely under the covers save for his eyes and forehead. His hands clasped the quilt protectively, and his cheek rested soundly on the corner where the B.B. was. A fond smile crossed Bilbo’s face and he leaned over Frodo.

“Goodnight lad. I’m so happy you’re here.” Bilbo whispered. He gently smoothed the curls back from Frodo’s brow and planted a soft kiss on his forehead before departing. As quietly as possible, Bilbo shut Frodo’s door and crept back down the hall. Once he reached the dining area, he saw the table was covered with dirty plates, utensils, napkins, and pots, but Bilbo didn’t mind. He smiled and whistled an old Shire tune as he began gathering dishes. Bilbo paused when he came to Frodo’s seat. Something was not right.

...

“What? What wasn’t right?!” Nick asked impatiently. Nearly the entire time Merry was reading, he sat on the edge of his seat, and now he seemed close to falling off.

“That’s where the chapter ends.” Merry replied.

“Well then, keep going!” Pippin ordered. He looked just as eager as Nick to continue the story: he was rocking back and forth in his chair and had a pleading expression in his enormous green eyes that would put a puppy’s begging face to shame. Frodo chose this moment to intersect the conversation.

“Haha well I’m glad you’re enjoying it lads, but I’m afraid we’d better turn in! We have an early start tomorrow!”

“Aw, Frodo! Haven’t you slept enough lately?” Pippin whined.

“Mr.Frodo needs and deserves all the sleep he can get, Mr.Pippin!” Sam cried defensively. He rose from the table and placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. Pippin sighed.

“Now, Sam, there’s no need for that. I know Frodo could use the sleep, I just like your story is all,” he explained.

“That’s quite all right, Pip.” Frodo said. “I promise we can read more on the way to Hobbiton. However, now we must all take to our beds for the night! Tom, Nick, Jolly, allow me to show you to your rooms. Crickhollow isn’t as large as Bag End, so I’m afraid two of you will have to share.” 

After a few minor arguments and negotiations, it was decided that Jolly and Nick would share a room if Tom would take the first driving shift. Once the Cottons were settled, Frodo returned to the room he shared with Sam to find him fast asleep. Sam hadn’t even bothered changing into a nightshirt: he was laying on top of the red quilt across his bed as if he had fallen asleep in the middle of unbuttoning his weskit. Frodo shook his head and grabbed the quilt off his own bed. Carefully and silently, he draped it lovingly on top of Sam and exited their room. 

Just across the hall, he knocked on Merry and Pippin’s door.

“Come in!” Merry called. Frodo slowly entered the room. Merry stood next to the washbasin in front of the mirror.He was rinsing his face and was already changed into his nightshirt. One glance at Frodo in the mirror and Merry already knew what his cousin was going to ask him.

“I don’t know what I was supposed to learn from that chapter.” He admitted. Merry’s tone was emotionless and seemed empty to Frodo’s sensitive ears.

“I thought you had more wit than that, Merry,” Frodo teased quietly. He wandered over to Merry’s bed and sank into it. “Knowing you, however, I expected you wouldn’t get it at first.”

“Knowing me?” Merry echoed. “Get what? What was I supposed to get?” Anger and impatience lurked over his words. 

“Where’s Pippin?” Frodo inquired, keeping his tone very calm and peaceful.

“He’s gone to the privy. What am I to get?” Merry asked again, in no mood to change the subject.

“Remember how, in the very beginning, I came out from under the table and both Bilbo and Sam knew something was wrong with me immediately? Even after I pretended to be alright?”

“Yes, so? They are both sharp, and you are a horrible liar.” Though Merry meant to sound grumpy and bored with the conversation, Frodo laughed at his response.

“It does appear that I cannot keep anything from anyone!" he jested. He looked over at Merry's reflection and, suddenly very serious, added, "but, neither can you.” Merry could feel Frodo’s eyes upon him, and he turned to meet his challenge.

“What do you mean?” He stared straight into Frodo’s evaluating gaze. Frodo continued to study Merry for a moment before he answered.

“You haven’t been fooling me for one minute, Meriadoc.” Frodo said matter-of-fact.

“Fooling you? That’s ridiculous! I’ve tried no such thing!” Merry defended. He tried to act surprised and offended by the accusation, but Frodo would not be put off.

“Don’t you lie to me! You’ve been miserable ever since we came back to Crickhollow! Your light jests, high energy, and happy mood have all been a mask! I was hoping you would come to me by now, but it seems I have to press into the issue myself.” Merry still tried to appear shocked.

“Frodo, I know you love to meddle, but, I assure you, I’m perfectly fine!” Merry set his jaw and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Oh sure! You’re fine, and I’m a wizard!” Frodo hoped the joke would break the tension in the room, but Merry merely stiffened with suppressed anger.

“Very funny,” he growled. Frodo considered unleashing his temper too but decided against it.

“Come on, lad,” he coaxed. “I know you’re not fine. Pippin’s not here, and everyone else has gone to bed. This is the perfect time to get whatever it is off your chest.” Merry remained frozen for a few moments, but, reluctantly, gave in and sank down next to Frodo.

“It’s Pippin,” he slowly admitted. “He’s been having nightmares since we arrived.”

“Yes, I know. We’ve had a few chats.”

“Well, your talks worked, because, last night, he didn’t have one.” Frodo quirked his eyebrows in confusion.

“Isn’t that a good thing? He was so exhausted.” Merry clenched his fists in his lap.

“Oh it was great! Until...until I had a stupid nightmare and woke him!” It was as if a dam broke inside Merry, and a flood rushed out of him. "I woke up to him calling my name frantically and shaking my shoulders! He looked so pale and scared! He said I was grunting and thrashing about. I usually wake up before the dream takes hold! I told him there was nothing to worry about and that I was only dreaming about swimming or something like that .. I don't even remember...doesn't matter, he didn't believe me, but I convinced him to go back to sleep anyway. Today, I pretended not to remember anything. He didn't believe that either but let the matter drop...I just don't want it to happen again, but I don't know how to prevent it...I'm considering not sleeping at all tonight..." Merry rubbed his eyes in frustration.

"Woah there, lad! Slow down a minute! You said you 'usually wake up before the dream takes hold.' Does that mean you have had these dreams before? Often?" he prodded. He watched Merry tense, obviously kicking himself mentally for letting that slip. It appeared Merry was debating whether or not to lie and cover up the mistake, but a quick glance at Frodo's wise face advised against it.

"I suppose..." he admitted slowly. "But I can handle it. It's Pippin who,"

"Wait," Frodo interrupted. "We'll get to Pippin in a minute. When did you start having these dreams?"

"In the Houses of Healing," Merry confessed. "They stopped after a few nights with the help of that kingsfoil tea."

"You mean the athelas herb?" Frodo clarified. 

"Yes, that's what Aragorn called it." Merry recalled. "Anyway, I began having those blasted nightmares again when we came back here. I don't really know why...it just happened." Merry hung his head in shame.

"What are they about? King Theoden? The battle at Pelennor Fields?" Frodo pressed.

"Well, yes. At first anyway...but..." Merry faltered. Frodo waited patiently for him to continue for a few moments.

"But...?" Frodo eventually prompted.

"But, when we came to Crickhollow, I started having dreams about 'what ifs'," he bitterly confessed.

"What do you mean, Mer?"

"What ifs like...like what if you left The Shire alone? What if Gandalf didn't discover Bilbo's ring was the one ring? What if the Black Riders found you? What if you were captured or..or even..." Merry trailed off. The dim candlelight filling the room revealed a few stray tears glistening on his cheeks. "I'm talking nonsense. Sorry, cousin..." 

"Don't you ever apologize for talking to me, Meriadoc!" Frodo said kindly by sternly. He looked Merry straight in the eyes and waited for him to nod in agreement before continuing.

"And you're not 'talking nonsense.' I've thought and dreamt about those same questions. Do you know what I've learned though?"

"No," Merry answered miserably. Frodo smiled slightly in sympathy.

"I've learned that, no matter how many situations you make up, none of them will ever come true. Merry, you can't change the past, and you can't predict the future, no matter how hard you try. Not even Gandalf can do such things!"

"I try not to, Frodo. I really do! I just can't seem to stop..."

"I know. Oh, believe me, I know! I can’t even count how many scenarios I dreamt up since we first began our journey!”

“Do you still think such things?” Merry asked quietly.

“Every once in a while I suppose, not nearly as often as I once did, but that’s because I found the secret to making them go away.” Merry looked at him expectantly.

“Let me ask you this, Mer. How do you feel after telling me about this?”

“Ridiculous,” Merry confessed.

“Exactly. The only way to realize how silly these dreams and ‘what ifs’ are is to confide them in someone else. Now, that’s not because your thoughts are idiotic or anything of the sort, but because they’re unclear and imaginary. Sometimes, Merry, it’s just too hard to straighten them out for yourself, and you need someone to help you.” Frodo paused a few seconds, letting Merry digest all this. 

“You’re so brave, Merry,” Frodo continued. “but, remember, being brave doesn’t mean you hide your fears. Being brave means you overcome them, and you don’t have to do that alone.” Merry, feeling much relieved, looked appreciatively into his cousin’s wise eyes.  
“Thank you.” he pulled Frodo into a tight embrace.

“Anytime, Mer,” Frodo replied. “Well, what do you think happened to Pip? He’s been in the privy a quarter of an hour!”

“He probably fell in, silly Took!” Merry laughed heartedly.

“I’ll go check but be ready with a length of rope just in case!” Frodo instructed, rising from the bed. As he was about to leave, Frodo turned back.

“Oh and Merry? I have plenty of athelas in a tin in the kitchen if you’d like some, alright?”

“Alright, thank you. Goodnight, Frodo.”

“Goodnight.” Frodo smiled and closed the door. As he walked back down the hallway in search of Pippin, he heard the front door open and close.

“Well Pip! You’re finally back! I’d begun to think you’d...why are you sitting on the floor?” he asked curiously. Pippin sat in his oversized nightgown with his knees pulled to his chest and his hands behind his back on the red and gold woven rug before the entryway. He regarded Frodo calmly but, having known Pippin all the lad’s life, Frodo could see fright in his eyes. 

“We have visitors, cousin.” Pippin replied evenly. Frodo looked up to see a pair of large figures emerge from shadows of the dimly lit room. Both had scruffy faces covered in grime and wore ragged pants and tunics soiled with mud and smears of dark red. One carried a sword in his hand, the other clutched a bow. Frodo felt his heart stop.

Ruffians.


	5. Ch.4- Bump in the Night

“I met these two on my out of the privy. Jumped me they did! A cowardly fight if you ask me!” Pippin remarked, trying to sound exasperated.

“Oh quit your squawking!” the ruffian with the sword snarled. The other gnashed his foul yellow teeth in Pippin’s face.

“How many more are here?” the first asked impatiently.

“Pippin and I are the only ones here.” Frodo answered quickly before Pip could open his mouth. “Our family has moved back to Hobbiton and are expecting us on the morrow. We’re driving the cart out front back at first light.”

“Ha! A likely story I’m sure! Then explain all ‘em packs!” The first ruffian pointed to where the hobbits had lined their traveling packs neatly beside the door.

“Surely after living in The Shire you’ve realised how much hobbits eat,” Frodo countered, not missing a beat. “It’s quite a long ways to Hobbiton and we plan to eat all meals along the way, so we’ve packed the necessary amount of food.” The second ruffian grabbed a pack and dug around the inside of it. Sure enough, it was filled with mostly bread, veggies, and apples.

“Very well, have it your way!” the first growled. “We’re wasting time!" He stared intently at Frodo for a minute, assessing his well-groomed, gentil appearance.

"You’re mighty high and well-off, ain't ya little rat?"

"The only vermin in here are you two!" Pippin snapped.

"Quiet you!" the second ruffian barked. In a single, swift motion he loaded his bow and drew it back, aiming it less two inches from the back of Pippin's neck.

"If it's money you want, then you're out of luck." Frodo said as peacefully as he could, though rage and fear were boiling up in his heart. "We haven't got more than a few coins. No one has much since the war."

"We ain’t here for money! We got something that needs reading. You know your letters and don't lie to me! Anyone who can afford such fancy garments has to know their letters!"

"Yes, I can read Westron." Frodo confirmed, surprised by his inquisition. "How can I be of assistance?"

"We got a map that needs reading. Read it for us, and we'll let your friend go. But, if there's any funny business, we'll put an arrow through him! Understand?" he bellowed.

"Yes, show me the map." Frodo agreed hurriedly. The man reached into his tunic and pulled out a folded, worn-out piece of parchment. Spreading it across the table, Frodo reached for a lamp and pulled it close. The map was a simple drawing of The Shire and the western sea coast. It seemed quite ordinary aside from the writing in the bottom left corner. Frodo slid the light even closer to read the faded script.

“They appear to be instructions on how to find and sail a ship docked in the Havens.”

“We know that already! Why do you think we have the bloody paper?! Come on, we’re losing time and Barney over there is losing his grip on that arrow!”

“Peace, sirs, have patience!” Frodo pleaded. “According to this map, you are to take the western road past The Grey Havens to the Gulf of Lhud, three miles east of Harlond. There you shall find a willow growing along the shoreline between two large boulders. Tied to the lowest branch of it is a sailboat. If you sail 36 degrees northwest for two days and then 12 degrees northeast for about five hours you'll arrive at Valinor." This last part Frodo practically whispered to himself as horror clouded his mind. He knew this boat- it was the one Lord Elrond meant for Sam to use to travel to Valinor if he so chooses. It was the only one of its kind, and there was no way Frodo would ever let these disgusting men take it. If they did, they would take away the only means for he and Sam to be reunited years later if he ever decided to leave with Bilbo across the Sea.

As Frodo struggled to contain his flurry of thoughts and emotions, the ruffian shoved a quill resting on the desk into his hand.

“There ain’t no way to remember all ‘em fancy directions! You best draw ‘em!”

With shaky handwriting, Frodo slowly drew a few arrows to the location of the boat. The moment he finished, the ruffian snatched up the map.

"Well thank you, little rat! That be all the information we need! Come on Barney, it's time to set sail!" Barney heaved a startled Pippin over his shoulders and marched towards the door.

"Wait! You promised to release him!" Frodo shouted.

"Did we? What a pity, a hostage comes in handy sometimes. I think we'll keep him 'til we's safe in the boat. Funny thing about rats, they always seem to find their way back home. If he obeys and you keep your trap shut, he'll be back in a couple of weeks, but, if either of you causes trouble, I hear rats drown pretty quick with a bolder tied to 'em." With that, they sauntered to the front door. Pippin kicked and fought as hard as he could but to no avail. Frodo just stood terrified trying to think.

All of a sudden, a frying pan soared through the air and nailed the chief ruffian on the head. He flew around in surprise and anger. This gave Merry the chance to sprint from his hiding spot in the corner, and he grabbed the map from the ruffian before he could even react. The man seethed in rage, his face turning turnip red.

"So that's how you want to play, is it?!" He brandished his sword and charged at a rather startled Frodo. Before the sword could pierce his heart, Sam dashed from the hallway with a cry and shoved Frodo out of the way. In his hand was Sting which he used to deflect the ruffian's blow. By this point, Merry too had drawn his sword and ran to Sam's side, an expression of utter fury on his face.

"Hold it!" shouted Barney. He had Pippin pinned to the floor with his large boot and another arrow aimed at his head.

"Now drop your weapons and give us the paper back or else he's done for!" Frodo was terrified by the authority in his voice and looked straight at Merry and Sam, mentally pleading them to put down their swords. Instead, Merry shuffled a couple steps to his right towards the fireplace. He dangled the map clutched in his hand over the burning fire.

"Release him or your precious map becomes charcoal!" Merry demanded. He stared intensely into Barney's eyes. After a few moments, Merry lowered the parchment so that the flames licked the bottom of it. The determination in Barney's face began to melt as the edges of the paper started to smolder. Reluctantly, he removed his foot from Pippin's back and used the tip of his arrow to sever the rope binding Pippin's feet.

"Go on, get up!" With the bow still aimed at Pippin, the young hobbit stood up and (as casually as he could) walked over to where Frodo and Sam stood.

"Now that's more like it, thank you!" Merry commented sarcastically. He withdrew the paper from the fire and chucked it at Barney.

"I've also heard rats have very good noses," Merry said. "If any of us catch whiff of you two again, you'll have much more than a frying pan coming your way! Now get!" Merry ordered. Angry and embarrassed at having been outsmarted, the miserable pair made one last snarl before running outside and into the woods. Only once they had been out of sight for many moments did Merry finally let out a sigh of relief. That appeared to be a signal for everyone to relax and begin fussing over one another. With great care, Sam cut the binding on Pippin's wrists while his older cousins swarmed him, inspecting every inch of his body and asking him over and over if he was alright.

When he could finally get a word in edgewise, Pippin explained how the ruffians had attacked him on his way back from the privy, tied him up, and baited him in the entrance to see if anyone else was home and would notice his absence.

"I heard Barney yell at Pippin to be quiet," Merry recalled "I opened the door at the same time Sam opened his. Without saying anything, I grabbed my sword and Sam got Sting and a frying pan."

"Sorry Mr.Frodo, Sting was closer to the door than my sword," Sam explained. "Anyway, we snuck down the hallway and listened while you read the instructions for 'em. Once we figured they were planning on takin' Mr.Pippin we got into positions and waited."

"That was grand!" Pippin exclaimed. Though Pippin was clearly still shaken by the ordeal (he was rather pale and his hands trembled slightly) He beamed proudly at Sam and especially Merry.

"I wouldn't say 'grand' Pip, but it was very clever and brave," Frodo praised. "Thank you both." As their adrenaline began to wear off, each hobbit became keenly aware of how fast his heart was beating and how truly terrified he had been. Without any words, they all sank to their knees and embraced one another tightly, none of them wanting to let go again.

Nick found them in that position a few minutes later. He was headed to the kitchen for a midnight snack when he noticed the faint glow of a lantern. Utterly confused, he rubbed his eyes to make sure he was awake and, as he did so, let out a huge yawn. All four hobbits snapped back into the present and whirled around to face him. Nick jumped back in surprise.

"Um...I was just gonna...I was hungry so I....uh...did I miss something?" The hobbits on the ground looked at one another. Their faces all held dramatic expressions of fear, because they were merely startled by a sleepy, hungry, harmless hobbit. All at once they burst out laughing, leaving a very puzzled Nick standing awkwardly in the doorway.

When they regained their breath, the hobbits told Nick to wake his brothers. Sam made everyone tea, and they all got comfortable around the fire. Taking turns, the four shared their story as the Cottons listened in horror.

“How could we have slept through that?” Jolly cried in surprise.

“I know how,” Tom responded. “You were snoring louder than Da does after too many ales!”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Nick asked worriedly, oblivious to the argument his brothers were having.

“I highly doubt it,” Frodo answered reassuredly. “Though they tried to act tough, they were clearly frightened and wanted to get out as soon as possible.”

“It’s a shame they got away with the map though,” Pippin pouted.

“Have no fear, Pip!” Merry cried. “No one messes with my family and gets away with it! Tadaa!” Merry reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded and tattered piece of paper. He waved it in the air before the astounded faces of his companions. Pippin quickly snatched it from Merry and inspected it.

“That’s the one!” he cried, awe-struck. “Merry, you’re a marvel! Hooray!” He lunged onto Merry’s lap and hugged him fiercely.

“May I please see that Pip?” Frodo took the map and looked it over closely.

“This really is it! Merry how on earth did you get it back?” Sam and Merry exchanged amused glances.

“Simple, cousin! I knew after you read the instructions on how to find and sail the boat that there was no way in Middle Earth I was going to let those two get their grimy hands on it, so I quickly made a ‘decoy’ you might say with the framed map hanging in the hall and scribbled some nonsense on it.

“It won’t be long before they realize their mistake.” Frodo said anxiously.

“Fear not, dear Frodo! By the time they gather their wits about the fake it’ll be too late!”

“Too late, why?” Pippin asked curiously. Sam and Merry smirked at one another.

“I may have ‘accidently’ drawn a few arrows leading them through Farmer Maggots field. I must have forgotten that Farmer Maggot doubled up on his guard dogs recently and trained them to attack suspicious men.” Pippin giggled mischieviously and the others sighed in relief.

“Merry, you never cease to amaze me.” Frodo chuckled, and his eyes swelled up with pride. Merry smiled sheepishly and the tips of his cheeks turned slightly pink.

“Alright, alright! Now that that’s over and done with, I need a snack!” Merry declared.

“Mer, it’s almost two in the morning!” Frodo argued. “We all need to get to bed and get to sleep!” At the mention of sleep, Pippin’s joy seemed to deflate. He shivered slightly and gripped Merry a little tighter. Merry looked with concern into Pippin’s face and saw the unmistakable sign of fear flash in his eyes. Frodo saw it too and understood its meaning. Though Pippin was fully prepared to sleep soundly tonight without any nightmares, the episode with the ruffians extinguished his confidence.

They sat in silence for a few moments, each deep in thought and sipping his tea.

“Well bed or no bed, I need an apple or something!” Nick mumbled. He stood up from the floor and headed to the kitchen. He took only a couple steps before his large toe slipped into a crack in the wooden floor boards, and he flew forward with a cry. Though he managed to catch his balance, he knocked Sam’s tea cup clear off its saucer. Peppermint tea splashed all across ground and even sprayed Merry and Pippin a tad. Frodo burst out laughing, and Nick turned beat red.

“It’s alright, Nick!” Frodo finally said. “It just reminded me of when I once saw Bilbo spill his tea! That was quite a day!”

“Oh I remember that!” Sam said grinning. “That was your first day at Bag End, right?”

“Right, Sam. It was the night after I had my first nightmare in Bag End as well.” That got Pippin’s attention. He looked quizzically at Frodo who glanced briefly at Merry’s puzzled face. Realization suddenly dawned on Merry: this might be just the thing to calm everyone’s nerves, especially Pippin’s.

“Here’s an idea: let’s get this tea cleaned up, put together a snack platter, and listen to this tale of Frodo and Sam’s! Then perhaps we can get a few moments of sleep.” Merry proposed.

“Excellent idea, Merry!” Frodo agreed. With that, everyone set to work, and, within ten minutes they were seated again with a tray of various fruits, veggies, breads, and cheeses that could be spared from their packs.

“Now that we’re all settled, let’s begin!” Frodo picked up the memory book and opened up to Chapter Four: Bump in the Night.   

................

_“Pass the jam please, Mama!” Frodo’s high voice exclaimed. Primula smiled back at her son._

_“Now dear, you’ve already got jam on your plate! I think that will be quite enough for your bun!”_

_“But Mama,” the little hobbit protested, “I’m trying to make a mountain on top, like the one Uncle Bilbo talked about in his story last yule! He said it was REALLY big, because it had to fit a dragon, Smaug!” As he explained this, he stretched out his arms, and, with the hand that was not holding his bun, he bent his fingers to make claws. His face took on the expression of an angry dog about to lash out. Primula laughed and looked to her husband._

_“Well lad,” said Drogo from across the picnic blanket, “why don’t you use the jam that’s all over your face? There’s enough smeared across your cheeks for three mountains!” Frodo grinned sheepishly at his father and attempted to lick himself clean. Satisfied he got it all, Frodo leaned back against his mother’s side and bit into his sticky roll. He glanced around the field as he ate. A single oak tree sat in the middle of an island of lush, green grass that would tickle his feet as he played. Behind their favourite picnic spot bubbled a small brook. It was only big enough to hold a few inches of water, but that was the perfect amount for a hobbit child to splash in._

_Suddenly, the sky grew very dark. Frodo looked around in panic and realised his parents were no longer near him. They were walking towards the creek. However, the little stream no longer flowed peacefully. In fact, it was growing larger and larger, and flowing faster by the second._

_“Mama! Papa! Come back!” Frodo cried from their picnic blanket. At first his parents kept walking slowly, as if in a trance, down the bank to the ever growing river. After several more calls from Frodo, Primula turned around and yelled back to him in her sweet voice._

_“It’s alright darling, we’ll be back tonight!”_

_“Yes son,” Drogo added, “We are just going on a quick boat ride! All we need to do is test for leaks and such before the family get-together tomorrow. Why, you don’t want them to think your father can’t build a proper boat!”_

_“No!” Frodo shouted. He started to run after his parents when an echoing thunder rumbled towards him. Frodo turned around and saw an enormous beast flying straight at him. The scarlet scales on the creature reflected in the lad’s eyes, and sharp teeth shone brightly  from the dragon’s open mouth. Before Frodo could flee, the dragon exhaled a pillar of fire. The grass around Frodo’s feet quickly burst into flames . Regaining his senses, Frodo scrambled up the tree and looked frantically for his mother and father. Finally, he spotted them. They were wading into the ever rising water. Frodo tried to cry out to them, but found that smoke had filled his lungs. He coughed violently, trying to remove the foul gas. Once he recovered his breath, he opened his mouth to shout but could only freeze in horror as he watched the water engulf the heads of his parents and wash them away, forever._

_ Frodo barely had time to catch a final glimpse of his parents before he heard a crack from beneath him. Without warning, the branch he stood on broke off, and he began to plummet to the burning abyss below.  _


End file.
